To Challenge the Alpha
by AnthrimaJoker
Summary: Slight A/U. Tyler and Narrator (Norton) are separate people. When a woman crashes their Fight Club party, Tyler gets called out for a match. Admittedly a guilty pleasure oneshot.


**To Challenge the Alpha**  
><strong>A Fight Club Oneshot by AnthrimaJoker<strong>  
>I own nothing but Irma.<br>Honestly this is just a guilty pleasure  
>oneshot. Regardless, I'd appreciate feedback.<br>Please enjoy!

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><p>"No shirts and shoes, right?"<p>

The guys stared at me, some bloodied, some waiting for their turn, all of them with surprise and amusement on their faces. I stepped toward them from the back, eyes on Durden and his partner. One of the men behind me laughed. I didn't gratify him with a glare, just watched the whip of a man who stepped forward. Before he could speak, Tyler Durden raised his voice.

"Someone broke a couple Rules," he muttered around a cigarette.

I grinned. My pale, calloused feet sank into the earth where the concrete had been chipped away. Cool water and mud squelched between my toes. There was no way of knowing if he was smirking at me or enjoying the sight of my bare chest as I dropped my shirt to the ground. Granted, I wasn't wonderfully endowed like my three sisters, but men tended to stare regardless of a woman's breast size.

Silence had dragged on for a few seconds before another man spoke. He was Vietnamese if I had to guess, about six feet tall and had shaved his head to show off some silly tattoo. "I'll let you have the first five hits for free," he chuckled. "If you thi-"

"No," I stated firmly. Bored but still watching Durden, I began to pop my knuckles. "My mother always told me to go big or go home - usually right before she lost two weeks' of money at the casino." With all the swaying hips of a well-fed cat, I sauntered to the ring leader.

Light and sweat did interesting things to the contours of his chest and stomach. He was wearing those same red pants as the first night I'd watched them, the same tacky red leather jacket discarded by his shoes. This time he was grinning, and he flicked the cigarette against the far wall where it would no doubt be forever forgotten. "Well," he shrugged. "Momma's always right."

With a roar of cheers from Durden's men, we lunged for one another. My fist connected with his ribs so hard, I couldn't tell which of our bones made the cracking sound. The next thing I knew, his arms were around my waist and I was being slammed onto the cellar floor. The wind was knocked out of me, and stars swirled across my vision. A rock cut into some part of my upper back, but the adrenaline was already flowing.

Tyler's smug grin floated above me, blue eyes glittering with confidence. I landed a strong right hook to his cheek; faint pain welled up in my hand and wrist. He groaned and tired to roll with the hit, but I'd clocked him pretty close to the ear. With any luck, it knocked his sense of balance off. I pushed him up with my knees and kicked him back hard enough that his feet slipped on the wet cardboard and he fell on his ass.

Someone in the background laughed while others continued to cheer. As quickly as I could, I jumped to my feet and aimed a kick for the leader's jaw. He was quick; I gave him that much.A massive hand caught my ankle. I felt it just a moment too late. Tyler pulled my off my feet and dragged my head cracked on the floor again. This time I could feel the cold, wet splatter of blood as it dripped from my split forehead. Tyler straddled my hips, one hand gripping me by the hair as he forced my cheek into the cardboard mat.

Reluctantly I tapped out. I didn't have much of an option, really, but I knew I left him some new bruises. When he stood up, he grabbed me by the arm and hauled me up with him. "Not bad for a first timer," he conceded. Despite the iota of praise, I still felt wounded by the loss. After all, I was a prideful thing.

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><p>The fights went on for hours, but I wasn't allowed in any more after my first show. Regardless, I watched with muted interest as I had for the last week. There was something about the air down in the fight cellar that made everyone feel alive again, like they never could during the day.<p>

As I was leaving, walking behind everyone else as usual, someone grabbed my wrist. Naturally I turned, fist prepped to fly, and stopped short at the sight of Durden. "What's your name?" he asked. Glacier blue eyes looked me up and down, just as he had everyone else that attended. Again his eyes lingered on my chest.

I pulled free and smirked. "Who is asking?"

He stepped forward, and I stepped back to match. "A middle child forgotten by the world, just like everyone else in the club."

This time I stepped back and he stepped forward. "Why should I tell a child my name?"

The dance continued, something dark and coy - my meaningless questions and his desire to know the name of the only woman to challenge him and his sausage-fest of a club - until I was leaning against the door of my abandoned truck.

I wrapped my hand around his jaw and pulled his lips to hover just above mine. "Irma," I whispered.

Those damned eyes of his searched my face for something. "Irma," he muttered back. Without warning his mouth crashed into my own. He tasted sweet, of honey and bitter tea.

In the darkness we tore at each other, filled with need and primal desire. He commanded with his hips and hands, and I obeyed only as far as I thought would suit me. Much the same way, he teased and nipped and prodded at my flesh as we slipped into my truck.

"If this continues," he sighed into my ear. "You will be only mine."

I flashed him a toothy grin, mischief lining my touch as I held his chin. "And I will ruin you in ways undefined," I answered.


End file.
